Enduring
by Feistee
Summary: Batman meets the mysterious Catwoman, and the seductive Selina Kyle, just as a brutal murderer begins to terrorize the city of Gotham. Post TDK.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - A Nolanverse Bat meets Cat fic. I've tried to emulate the grit and realism of the movies, as this is the Batman I enjoy the most.  
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Whoever this thief was, he had expensive taste.

Six months had passed since the Fifth Avenue Cartier was hit, but it wasn't until the same MO popped up at the midtown Tiffany's that Bruce realized something was wrong. At first, more pressing matters (mostly in the form of a psychopath clown) had left him little time to ponder over, comparably, petty delinquency. But now, thanks to the ever present shadow of the Batman, organized crime seemed to be losing steam and he had allowed himself to investigate some of the less violent crimes that marred his city. Careful consideration of several luxury good robberies revealed that someone was systematically attacking high-end stores.

The thefts were odd in that the burglar did not sweep the entire store. One would think after working so hard to breach the security systems, the thief would want to flee with as much merchandise as possible, but the item taken was usually a single, albeit elaborate, piece. The thefts were undetected until the next morning, suggesting the perp had scoped out their target thoroughly and knew the security systems well.

And so, Batman waited, perched on top of a particularly foul looking gargoyle on the corner overlooking a De Beers. He sat up a little straighter, arching his back and expecting it to creak after holding the uncomfortable position for so long. He had waited here after patrol four times this week, patiently, hoping that the thief would show. The skylight at the top of the low-rise seemed like a particularly inviting breaching point, so he chose a vantage that gave him a clear view of the entire glass enclave.

Batman cursed under his breath as he caught a flicker of movement, and saw a slinking figure _exit_ the skylight and start to shoot across the length of the rooftop. The thief must have used a different entrance, so the plan to use the store itself as a cornering point was now bust. He jumped, letting his wings catch the wind as he swept down, but the thief was fast, having already reached the ledge.

His boots scraped the ground lightly as he made contact and skidded to a crouch. The thief, a woman he noted, stopped in her tracks.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

As she turned, he arched a brow beneath his mask. "Nice getup," he said.

A tight black leotard hugged her body and her eyes were veiled by a large pair of violet goggles. He noted the two odd protrusions that emerged from the top of her hood. Ears. Cat ears.

She clicked her tongue. "The man dressed like a giant rodent did _not_ just try to give me fashion advice. What is your deal, anyway?" Her voice was low, but warm with amusement.

"Bats are not rodents," he told her pointedly, and started to close the distance between them.

His menacing steps clearly did not have the intended effect as she swung a small velvet bag in front of her to some unheard beat. "Well, be that as it may, doesn't make you any less nutty."

As Batman got within arm's reach, her leg cracked up and her boot caught him in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards. He grabbed the closest chimney for support, and by the time he had blinked the stars out of his eyes, she had made it to the adjacent rooftop. He shook his head to clear his vision and broke into a full sprint, leading with his hand as he shot a grapple out to the ledge. It connected and the line began to reel him in, shooting him forward and letting him gain some ground. However, she took a sharp left and sent out a rope, no, a whip, to the balconies five floors above them. She swung on the line and managed to disappear for a moment behind a particularly tall building on the intersecting street. But Batman was perceptive, and saw her drop into an alleyway on the other side of the block.

He grappled again, and let the mechanism pull him again, this time falling down to land in front of her.

The thief whistled lightly as the Batman cut her off. "You're quick."

"Give me the bag."

She cracked her whip against the ground and the sound echoed through the narrow alley, which amplified the already jarring noise. "In case I didn't make it clear, handsome," she replied, "you're not getting this, until you catch me."

So Batman rushed her, which she anticipated. Her whip wrapped around the nearest fire escape, and she leapt up to escape. She was 6 feet in the air when his grapple caught her ankle, and he yanked, hard. She yelped as she came down, crashing into the nearest dumpster and rolling off the lid. She was up on two shaky feet as he rounded the corner and pinned her forcefully against the wall.

"Caught you," he growled as he squeezed her shoulder roughly, feeling the taught muscle underneath. "The bag."

"You don't want this old thing, do you, Bats?" She asked him and flashed a predatory, but sultry smile. "Why don't I actually make this worth your while, hmm?"

She unhooked the velvet bag from her belt and tossed it behind him, and he glanced, for just a moment, but that was all it took, and she slammed her elbow down hard against forearm and broke his hold. She dodged his fist as he sent it out to strike her, but he noticed she was moving slower and favouring her left leg. The fall hadn't been painless. Her whip shot up again, and this time, she was successful as she climbed lithely up the fire escape and disappeared over the roof, despite her injuries.

As he opened the bag of loot she had discarded, he was unsurprised to find it empty, and sighed as he tossed it into an open trash can.

* * *

><p>Selina cringed as she peeled her costume off her leg, which revealed that her left thigh was already purpling beneath a series of nasty scratches. She leaned her head back on the couch and allowed herself a moment to gaze out the window of her apartment where she could see the twinkling city lights reflecting off the East River.<p>

"Ouch," she murmured, pushing herself up and beginning the arduous journey across her living room to the kitchen. She stopped momentarily at the granite island and fingered the necklace of cascading diamonds. From the delicate central chain, clusters of the clear-cut jewels hung in an elaborate pattern. "But totally worth it."

She retrieved a bag of frozen peas from the fridge and pressed them against her skin, hissing at the immediate pain caused by the pressure. She felt a familiar soft warmth at her ankle as her one-eyed calico nuzzled her.

"How are you, Isis darling," Selina cooed, patting the island barstool. The calico took the cue and jumped up, arching her back beneath Selina's hand, but her one beady eye rested on Selina's leg as she mewled lightly.

She gathered the cat up into her arms and collapsed once more on the dark blue couch, not bothering to change out of the tight underclothes she wore beneath her costume. She turned on the TV and flicked through the channels, boredom wrought on her face, until the red and white banner of "BREAKING NEWS" caught her eye.

"-two more women have been found under sewer grating in Old Gotham, on the corner of 73rd and 4th. Suspicions arose when the grates began to overflow following substantial rainfall on Wednesday. GCPD has alluded to the fact that the bodies might have washed through the sewer systems, with the most possible origin being Crime Alley."

"Of course," Selina murmured.

The scene cut to a Commissioner Jim Gordon, standing behind a podium. He sullenly pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. "These women, like Ms. Leona Gray, found five months ago in the reservoir, was discovered with her throat cut open. There is no evidence of a sexual attack."

"Who were the new victims?" shouted a reported from the crowd.

"Like the previous victim, they were young women who frequented Crime Alley as prostitutes. Their names will be released tomorrow following-"

"Do you think it's a serial killer?" yelled the same, anxious reporter.

Gordon sniffed and planted his hands against the podium. "Yes," he stated.

The flashes went off in a frenzy, as did the myriad of questions, but Gordon yelled over the din, "We urge citizens to report any suspicious behaviour, anonymously if needed, to the GCPD hotline, and please be vigilant when visiting the more seedy neighbourhoods, particularly at night!"

Selina turned off the television, throwing the remote to the adjacent loveseat in frustration. A psychopath was loose.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"She's fast, Alfred," he said, steepling his fingers over the steaming coffee.

"Oh, she must be to outrun you, sir," his butler conceded, though the undertone of mockery was not lost on Bruce.

"She must have had formal training, a lot of it," he continued. "There's no way she'd fly under my radar for so long."

His first meeting with the burglar that Alfred had affectionately dubbed 'Catwoman' had quickly become a second, and then third encounter, all within the span of two months. Bruce had managed to retrieve her stolen treasures only once, but never had he been able to get her hands on her.

Bruce downed the coffee in one needlessly large gulp, enjoying the feeling of the warmth spreading through his torso. He pushed his chair out from under the table and stood solemnly at the windows of his apartment, observing the busy city streets below. He weighed Gotham's current situation carefully in his mind. The search for the killer in Crime Alley had so far been fruitless, despite his evening patrols and stakeouts that involved intensely questioning the neighbourhood's local dealers and pimps. The dregs of Gotham's poorest neighbourhood seemed to be as clueless about the murderer as GCPD was. Catwoman's periodic appearances only served to irk him further.

"Shall I get your suit ready, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as he wiped his hands against a cloth napkin. "The auction begins in less than two hours."

And precisely two-and-a-half hours later, Bruce Wayne, always one to be fashionably late, exited the rear of a black Rolls Royce Phantom. The pretty woman on his arm was Jennifer Snow, a model who had made _Gotham's Most Beautiful People_ list two years in a row. She had even beat Bruce once, Alfred mentioned casually as they had picked her up. Bruce had scoffed in reply.

"And here we have an original Eisman! Upon donating this piece, Mr. Eisman said his inspiration for the painting was the brutality and tranquility that are Mother Nature. The duality of our planet," announced the eager auctioneer as a painting was unveiled. Swift brush strokes of azure, turquoise, and all the colours between filled the canvas. "Bidding starts at twenty-thousand."

Bruce took a seat in one of tables in the front row beside his date, and put his hand up as the first bidder, thereby making his presence known.

"Number 44, Mr. Wayne, at twenty-thousa- Number 63 at twenty-five-thousand..."

Bruce one-upped the other bidders four more times, finally emerging victorious, though his bank account had taken a $165000 hit. Jennifer smiled and congratulated him as he won two more pieces over the next two hours, clearly enjoying the limelight his bids had cast on the couple.

Then as the mingling began, Bruce tried to make it clear that the wine at his table had gone straight to his head, and stumbled as he got out of the chair. In reality, his share of the drink had been discarded in the trough fountain behind them. The swell of soft jazz began to fill the room from the live band.

"Let's dance, Bruce," Jennifer said as she started leading him to the open floor.

Bruce shot her a foppish grin and allowed her to drag him away from their table. However, Darcy Reyes, head curator of the Gotham Modern Art Museum, GMAM, intercepted them.

"Bruce, sorry to interrupt, but as the biggest donor from tonight's event, I thought you should meet who your money is going to. And let me just say that it's in very capable hands, and will do a great deal of good to support Gotham's arts," Reyes said excitedly.

A slender brunette turned as Reyes put a hand on her forearm. She was draped in a dark purple dress which tied back around her neck, leaving her pale shoulders bare. She held a flute of champagne with nonchalance and discarded it on the table beside her before holding her hand out.

"Selina Kyle," the woman smiled. "I work as Darcy's creative lead for both the museum exhibits and events like these. I hope you're enjoying yourself, Mr. Wayne."

"Absolutely," Bruce replied, crossing his arms as he examined her, his date suddenly forgotten. "I wasn't aware you played such a pivotal role in the establishment."

Darcy interjected again, "Selina just joined us last year. She just returned from Northwestern after finishing her Masters..." and Darcy Reyes excused herself as she spotted another noteworthy face in the crowd of socialites.

"Returned?" Bruce asked.

Selina eyed his date, entertained. Jennifer was becoming visibly irked at the lack of attention. "Gotham born and raised, Mr. Wayne. It would seem I'm helpless to the charms of this city."

"Aren't we all? And call me Bruce." He turned to Jennifer and gestured to the bartender. "Why don't you get us a drink, hmm?"

For good measure, he gave her bottom a little smack as she stalked away. He grinned as he turned back to Selina, who to his surprise, was smiling back.

"So what did you study at Northwestern, Selina?" he asked, allowing his eyes to travel down her body. Normally, such an action just served to cement his uncouth socialite persona, but this time, he allowed himself to get some enjoyment out of it. She was pleasing to the eye, to say the least.

"Classical studies, with a minor in political science," she replied, pushing a long lock of hair behind her ear. "I finished my undergrad at Gotham U and lived overseas a few years before going back to school. I was a tad bit older than most of the students, but wouldn't trade the experience for the world."

Her gaze shifted behind him, where something had caught her eye. "Looks like your date seems to have found a shiny toy."

"And newer toy," he murmured as he saw Jennifer fawning over a tall blonde man, who was easily ten years younger than Bruce.

He didn't see Selina slip forward and thread her arm through his, nudging him to the side. "Let's show her what she's missing, shall we?"

And they danced briefly to two slow songs. A tall, dark woman had joined the four-piece on stage and began crooning to some Ella Fitzgerald. Neither said anything as they swayed to the beat and Bruce could not help but relish the feeling of the gentle curve of her hip beneath his hand.

The tune faded and her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, "You know, Bruce, for someone who polished off two bottles of wine tonight, you have impeccable coordination."

They locked gazes and he held his breath as he studied the cool green of her eyes. He did not like her tone.

"Maybe you should be a little more subtle next time? And you should know, it was practically a _crime_ to waste that vintage," she smirked.

He blinked, and she leaned on her toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek before slipping away silently, disappearing into the clapping crowd.

* * *

><p>Selina hitched the collar of her coat up against the wind as she jogged into the nearest alleyway. Darkness was setting in, and she wanted to be out of the neighbourhood before nightfall. As handy as Catwoman was for midnight raids and skulking, she knew the women she was going to meet were not very responsive to a stranger garbed in neoprene and leather. She had tried, twice, and so decided to dress in a rather low-key pair of jeans, and an argyle sweater. She had bundled herself in a dark grey woollen coat, trying anything to avoid appearing holier-than-thou. She knew all too well how much disdain people like Selina faced in the eyes of those trying to make a living in Crime Alley.<p>

_Catwoman_, she thought. The moniker had stuck.

"_Oh, come on, you're slowing down," she teased before vaulting back on her hands to put more space between them._

_Batman clenched his jaw as he tried to grapple her, but she had learned from the last surprise attack, and swiftly sliced the line with the sharp claws that lined the fingertips of her costume. With a ruffle of his cape, he ran at her, and in the moment she had taken to cut the grapple, he launched forward in a tackle and together, they flew over the ledge. In midair, he pivoted so that he was beneath, and they landed with a crash on the next level of the multi-story rooftop. He shifted and rolled on top of her, effectively immobilizing her, though she squirmed under his much greater weight. _

"_I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, Catwoman," he growled, reaching to her belt to retrieve the ring she had swiped. _

_She laughed, still breathless. "That's a cute nickname."_

"_An _appropriate_ identifier," he corrected stiffly._

"_Don't worry," she murmured, latching her legs around his midsection and squeezing. "I like it."_

_He froze. Batman never froze. She could almost imagine the bob of his Adam's apple working against his throat as he swallowed, and she licked her lips with anticipation. At that instant, the ground beneath them shook uncontrollably as the din of a distant explosion filled the air. She could already hear the sirens as he leapt off her and ran towards the fire that had sprouted up at the docks._

Their encounter last night rolled through her mind and brought a smile to her lips. The one part that stood out in particular was the fall. He had taken care to cushion her. It seemed he had developed a soft spot for the Cat.

The rapping of her boots echoed in the narrow alleyway until she hit the other side of the expansive, though almost completely deserted avenue. Two women leaned against the brick of the pre-war building, their eyes scanning the almost deserted streets. Selina approached them, and for a moment, wondered how she would begin.

"Hey girls," she greeted softly, stuffing her hands in her pockets in an attempt to warm them in the cold November chill.

The red-head eyed her with suspicion while the blonde pushed herself off the wall. Neither said anything. Selina glanced around, making sure that they were relatively alone. Across the street, a car had just allowed a woman into the passenger seat and sped away, a common scene in this part of town.

"I want to talk to you about what's been happening here," she said simply, deciding that being straightforward was the best option. "Did you know any of those women on the news?"

"Limmy said the Bat already tried to snoop around here. Fuck off," the blonde spat, reaching into her jacket for a cigarette. After a few attempts in the frigid wind, she managed to light it and took a heavy drag. She blew the smoke in Selina's direction.

Tears pricked the corners of Selina's eyes as she waved the acerbic smoke out of her face. She turned her hands outwards and took a step forward. "Listen, I want to help. It's very important that-"

"Hey," came a rumbling voice a beat up Ford pickup had rolled up beside them. The man in the driver's seat had rolled down the window to reveal the upper half of his face. His eyes were focused on Selina.

Her mouth curled in disgust, and she was about to say something rather rude, but the blonde slipped in front, whispered something to the man and ran around to get into the truck.

The red head started to stalk away, but Selina caught up with her. "You know, I'm not so different from you," she said finally, though she hoped it did not have to go to this.

They rounded the corner, back into the same alley that Selina had emerged from, when the girl turned around, furious. "I don't know who the _hell_ you think you are, but we weren't gonna talk to the cops and we sure ain't gonna talk to you. Prancing around in your Chanel perfume-"

_She still picked up on the perfume_, Selina chided herself. "Do you know who Jonny Harkin was?"

The girl's face softened, and for the first time, Selina saw she couldn't have been more than 20 years old. Her stomach roiled at the realization.

"Hellboy Harkin."

"He tried to convince me he'd take care of me too, but at least once a week, I'd end up with a bloody nose, or a black eye, or worse. Whoever your pimp is, he won't help you, especially against the monster that's hurting your friends," Selina said with quiet urgency. "But I can."

"Jonny Harkin died in a fire on the Lower East Side years ago. Limmy always tells me he got so angry at his girls one day that he tied them up and they all burned," she began.

Selina ushered the girl further into the alley, away from prying eyes. "Limmy doesn't know anything. Harkin was a drunk, a drunk who didn't know that lighting a joint after leaving a gas stove on is a _really_ bad idea."

"How do you know what?"

She swallowed. "I was 15. I was in the apartment when the initial explosion went off. And I ran. When I did, I was lucky to find a very kind man who really _did_ take care of me. What's your name?"

"Holly."

Selina took the girl's hand in her own and squeezed. "I don't know how long you've been here, but I was lucky to get out after just a year. I can't help everyone here, but I will help you. Do you know _anything_ about the murders?"

Holly shook her head and backed up into a wall, shivering as a gust of wind rushed through the streets. "Leona was my friend. When I heard what happened, I-"

Her head snapped towards the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the main avenue. A man flashed by on the sidewalk, but he did not notice them and continued down the street. Holly pushed Selina away. "It's Limmy, please, go."

Selina fished out her wallet from her pocket and retrieved a wad of 20s, shoving them into Holly's hand. "Can you remember 369-3739?"

"Yes," the girl nodded. "369-3739."

Selina began to slip away and called back quietly, "That's my number. Whenever you feel ready, call me."

She hailed a cab as she got to two blocks down and scrambled in, hoping the pimp hadn't seen her. She could only wait; pressing Holly even more would not be smart. Her trust was fragile, and hard earned, but Selina hoped she had struck a chord.

It was just that she hadn't expected that the young girl would have such a profound effect on her.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce thrust his cowl off in frustration and collapsed on the chair in front of the computer station. The mansion was almost complete, except for small superficial flaws that were being fixed in the west wing, so he had started to frequent the Cave again.

He still had no leads. He had spoken to Gordon earlier that night to retrieve the forensic files from the newest murder victim, and began to pore over them. He catalogued the findings in a new database entry. Her name was Tracy Long, another young woman, another life lost.

No DNA was found at the scene other than the victim's but curiously, she was found in her ramshackle apartment on the Lower East Side. There was no attempt to hide the crime. In fact, her body had been propped up into a kitchen chair, in front of a cup of tea that had presumably been warm at some time. The killer was clearly becoming more grotesque, and taking time to make the murders more elaborate. There were no witnesses, at least none who were willing to talk to Batman or the GCPD, but this was expected, considering they had put a considerable number of Crime Alley inhabitants behind bars.

The women were unconnected in that they frequented different streets on Crime Alley when they propositioned, had different pimps, and did not seem to be friends. The killer was stalking at random, most likely propositioning them before ending their lives.

He stripped off the plating of his armour and changed into sweats and a T-shirt before taking the lift up to the mansion. He massaged the back of his neck which was still acting up after Catwoman had so unceremoniously clocked him in the chin.

"Late night, Master Bruce?" came a familiar voice from the top of the stairs.

"Still nothing, Alfred."

Alfred walked with him to his bedroom and opened the door for him. It seemed to be a tradition of sorts after the particularly gruelling patrols. "Another poor girl."

"I couldn't even scope Crime Alley tonight." Bruce collapsed on the bed, feeling the fatigue beginning to take him as he closed his eyes. "There was a hostage situation in midtown, but the gunmen are hanging from the girders of the Grafton Bridge right now."

"Very good, sir," Alfred said, but he heard Bruce's quiet snoring, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

><p><em>She could hear Jonny plead to her as she saw him through the splintering collapsed rafter. Tinder to the flames. <em>

"_Selina, please, I won't hurt you no more, get me out," he shouted, his skin already beginning to sprout angry welts in the merciless heat._

_The temperature was rising every second, so she tried to approach him, but it was unbearable. She yelped, withdrawing her reddened hand and wrapping it up in the long sleeve of her sweatshirt. The wall to her left began to crumble, and the floor beneath her feet creaked ominously. Her eyes met his one last time before she turned, and ran down the stairs, leaving him pinned under the bookshelf._

_She imagined the flesh melting off his bones as the fire consumed him, all the while screaming her name..._

Selina's eyes shot open. She wiped the back of her hand against her clammy forehead and sat up, grabbing the tall glass of water on her side table. She sipped it, but felt immediately queasy and jumped out of the bed to run the ensuite. She wretched over the toilet but her stomach was empty.

Isis jumped on top of the tank and gave a soft cry as she often did when Selina seemed unwell. "That was supremely unpleasant, darling," she whispered. She was not expected _that_ nightmare to pop up again, not after so many years.

She glanced at the clock on her side table. The angry red numbers read a contemptible 4:14 am. She had been at the museum late to plan the new Andrė Gonzales exhibit. Darcy was all abuzz that morning when they received a check from Wayne Enterprises totalling 2 million dollars, and set the team off to plan the newest wing right away. Working at GMAM gave her a sense of normalcy and was a welcome distraction from the case, which was always heavy on her conscience.

Holly had not contacted her, and she wasn't sure if she ever would.

With a sigh, she went to the closet and fetched her costume. If sleep wasn't an option, she decided she would have a productive two hours before dawn. She adjusted the goggles snugly over her face before leaping off her balcony.

She was immediately grateful for the new layer of insulation she had inlaid in her costume. The snow was drifting lazily in the wind as she rolled to a stop upon the roof of the National Gallery, which had just opened up a new exotic jewellery exhibit. She began to memorize the layout of both the roof and the adjacent buildings, planning 3 possible escape routes since in her experience, one backup was rarely sufficient. She noted some not-so-obvious points to latch her whip, and then proceeded to examine the south wall which was lined with windows. It served as an ideal entrance since it was veiled by the far taller buildings across the way.

Quad-pane tempered glass. She frowned. This would certainly render her claws far less useful.

Her inspection was interrupted when her keen ears picked up the distant sound of glass shattering. _Curiosity did kill the cat_, warned a little voice in her head, but she quickly silenced it and swung down to the ground. With utmost caution, she crouched as she peered around the corner and saw four rather large men crowded around a door. One of them was reaching his arm into a smashed window to turn the doorknob.

"No alarm," the fattest one proclaimed.

"Morons," Catwoman breathed before straightening up to stand. She wanted to be far away when GCPD showed up.

With a quiet click, the lock disengaged, and the robber pushed the door open. Unsurprisingly, the ear splitting wailing of an alarm began to sound, but the men rushed into the store regardless. She could hear the smashing and clanging of their inelegant pillaging as she climbed onto the closest fire escape and began to make her way up.

"This doesn't seem like your style," came a gravelly voice.

Her lip quirked up as she placed a hand on her hip. "You've got the wrong girl, Bats, I swear."

He approached her warily, fists clenched and ready to spring at any moment. He was quite tall, she noted, and truly a sight to behold. Back straight, jaw square, face veiled by shadow and fierceness, but she wasn't afraid, just intrigued. For the first time, she wondered what he looked like, what he _really_ looked like.

She snapped her whip up and sent it to wrap around his middle, but he had a batarang ready in his hand to severe it.

"Wait," she conceded. She tugged on the whip lightly and gestured below them. "Take a look." The alarm was still sounding, though it was not nearly as jarring from atop the building. She let the whip grow lank and fall to a bundle at his feet.

Begrudgingly, he came to stand beside her and peered down at the smashed window. "Thugs," he pointed out.

"So astute," she replied languorously, draping her forearm across his shoulder. Her body hummed pleasantly at the proximity.

He stiffened under her touch and tucked the batarang back into his belt. "And you just happened to be in the neighbourhood?" he asked her, frowning. Without waiting for a reply, he jumped down to land in front of the first man who was emerging from the building.

She could hear sirens in the distance, and against her better judgement, she watched from above. Batman had already taken the first man down with a brutal palm to his solar plexus, and he had rushed behind the second man, wrenching his arm backwards. She winced as she heard a crack and the cry of the robber as his ulna snapped. Another one brought up a pistol, aiming it squarely at Batman's back, but the crusader smashed his gauntlet into the brute's arm viciously, leaving the weapon to clatter across the cold asphalt. The fat man dropped his duffel bag and began to sprint down the alley, but he was slow, and Batman hurled his companion at him. They fell to the ground in a tumble.

Batman brought out some line from his belt and began to tie up the thugs just as the brick walls began to flash the reflecting the red and blue of the police cars. He finished promptly and grappled back up beside her as two officers discovered the thieves.

"Bravo," she commended. "I've got to say, you impressed me."

Batman was looking at the ground, examining her only from the corner of his eye. He remained silent.

She held her wrists out with a feigned sigh. "Well, here I am, ripe for the taking. You've scared me straight, hero."

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said, lips pressed together humourlessly.

"Oh?" she asked, surprised, as she let her arms drop to her side. "And my transgressions those other times, you're willing to forgive them? And here I was hoping you'd punish me."

"I'm not interested in your games," he snapped, and as quickly as that, he had grappled away to disappear into the night.

Selina narrowed her eyes at his retreating form, not entirely sure why she felt so disappointed.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Every time they met, it was like they danced. Exhilarating pursuits through the rooftops that became more frenzied and elaborate and dizzying as the night grew deeper, darker. Expertly executed strikes and parries that would have sent most people to their knees, but only served to push them more, harder and faster.

"Mr. Wayne?"

He was shaken out of his reverie by the smooth voice of Lucius Fox. "We were discussing the Greyfountain takeover? Bidding begins on Thursday. Our advisors have ensured us this will be a most lucrative endeavour. Greyfountain saw a 22% increase in the market share in military contract aviation last year alone."

Several of the men at the table eyed Bruce with thinly veiled exasperation. It had not been the first time, nor would it be the last, the Bruce Wayne had been caught not paying attention at a board meeting. _Well, at least I wasn't asleep,_ he thought sardonically.

"Rumour has it LexCorp is willing to bid upwards of 30 million," Bruce replied, straightening in his chair. "But I'm sure we can outdo that, right Mr. Fox?"

"Of course," Lucius smiled. "Well, I suppose that's everything for today. Gentlemen."

As the boardroom emptied, Lucius put a hand on his shoulder. "If you'd like to come down to R&D, I have something pretty interesting to show you. I think it might come in handy."

Batman always welcomed a new toy. He wondered what Lucius had funded this time, possibilities tumbling in his mind.

As they left the room, Paige the secretary stood up from behind her desk. "Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry to interrupt, but a Ms. Kyle is here to see you?"

Bruce bristled, unsure if he wanted to see the woman so soon. Their last meeting had ended rather ominously. "Why?"

Paige seemed unnerved by his brusqueness. "I don't know, but she said Mrs. Reyes insisted you two speak. Today. She's waiting in your office."

"It's alright Bruce, call me up when you have time later," Lucius said, eyeing his discomfort with unabashed interest.

Bruce made his way down a floor to his office, slowing down to a casual stroll deliberately. He exhaled heavily before planting a practiced smile on his face and opening the heavy oak doors.

"Ms. Kyle," he greeted. She stood from the chair across his desk, holding a red and white envelope in her hand. Selina dressed-for-business was just as alluring as Selina dressed-for pleasure, he decided immediately.

"Bruce," she replied, insinuating they really were on a first name basis now.

"What can I do for you today?" he asked, leaning casually against his desk.

She smoothed her grey pencil skirt as she sat back down. "As GMAM's premiere donor, you must have known I'd be making courtesy calls like this."

"And here I thought you just liked me," he replied easily, letting a sleazy grin slip onto his face.

She rose from her seat and rounded the table to stand toe-to-toe with him. "I'd like to think of it as perk of the job," she said, her eyes sparking with mischief.

_That was unexpected_, Bruce thought. Women like Selina Kyle, intelligent and self-sufficient, were usually weary of Bruce Wayne's advances. His reputation always preceded him, as was his intention.

"What do you need, Selina?" he asked, deciding it was best to set the conversation back on course.

"As I'm sure you know, GMAM is a member of a nationwide partnership of modern art fellowships and galleries."

He nodded, though he did not know that, because obviously, he could not care less.

"Well," she continued, "we have a convention to welcome the New Year, hosted at one of the sister establishments, and this year it will be held in Metropolis. Each member traditionally sends two or three of their biggest donors to the event. It's supposed to be a night to celebrate the people who make museums like GMAM possible, but really, it's a thinly veiled booze-fest."

"Is that a hint of disdain, I detect?"

"Let's just say I think such a show is unnecessary. But Darcy insists, just as she insisted I give you a personal invitation" she smiled, placing the envelope on his desk. "And what the boss wants, the boss gets, though that may be a foreign concept to you, _being_ the boss and all."

"I suppose she thought you'd be the clincher in getting me to accept," he replied, the flirting escaping his mouth even before he considered if it was a good idea. "I'd be honoured to come to your booze-fest." He stood up to offer his hand, which she shook firmly, though her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.

"Minus the booze, right?" she smiled, and strode from the room. As she exited she paused, "Don't worry, Bruce, our little secret. Looking forward to seeing you there"

He tilted his head as she closed the door behind her, even more confused about that woman now than he had been before.

* * *

><p>Catwoman shivered as a gust of wind rushed past her. She managed to find some refuge from the chill behind the church's bell tower, and was satisfied that she could still see Holly. She spied a thin tendril of smoke emerging under the yellow lights of the street lamp that towered over the young girl. <em>Filthy habit<em>, she thought, frowning. It was nearing 2:00 am, and Holly would probably be retiring soon, going home alone.

The Lower East Side looked particularly dreary tonight through the haze of the flurries that were to tumbling in the wind. Lines of pre-war low-rises stood like crumbling sentinels over the narrow streets, while the impressive skyscrapers downtown glittered in the distance, punctuated by the looming spire that was Wayne Tower. Selina scoffed.

Bruce Wayne, prince of Gotham's elite. He wore the crown with practiced ease, didn't he?

But there was something there, carefully hidden behind a perfectly constructed public persona. She knew. Selina was no stranger to hiding behind the same masks, and hiding usually led to running. Still, she did not need to be a psychologist to know his parents' murders had not left him unscathed. Though she could not help but repress her sympathy in favour of jealousy. Not everyone was lucky enough to be born a _Wayne_.

Then again, maybe she was being too kind. Maybe his affluence had just gone straight to that handsome head of his, and he was just as airheaded as he appeared.

For a moment, she considered why _she_ had come back to the city that had been the breeding ground of all the miscreants and filth that had made her teenage years a living hell. Perhaps she was a glutton for punishment. But like Bruce, Gotham had something brewing beneath the surface, and it seemed to have her enraptured. Gotham was organic. It had changed immensely since she left, and was morphing still under the watchful eye of its Dark Knight.

Activity on the next block was catching her eye. A dark van had pulled up in front of a Gotham City Bank branch, and hadn't moved for more than 30 minutes. No one had gotten out, though two men had gotten in.

If they tried to hit the bank, she would not interfere. The Cat was _not_ the Bat.

Far below, Holly glanced at her watch, tightened the belt at her coat waist and began to walk away. Selina saw her briskly striding four blocks north, and then turn into a rundown apartment complex. Safe.

Selina heard the noise of the van door sliding open. Five heavily armed men poured out of the van in succession, touting semi-automatics and garbed in black masks. One last man, considerably smaller than the rest, hopped out and adjusted his expensive looking suit, but did not move forward as the rest approached the store_._

She crouched and crept forward, sliding down a few feet on the stone awning which was slippery with melted snow. She jerked suddenly as the men started to fire, the thick bullets ripping through the glass mercilessly. Not a very subtle bunch.

As she readied her whip to leave, the van exploded in a burst of flames and she froze, startled. The man in the suit was knocked forward, and she was unsurprised when she caught Batman's shadow looming over the robbers who had turned around to survey the carnage. Bits of the vehicle's hood and roof were lying on the sidewalk, and the passenger side had been ripped open savagely. They weren't getting away any time soon.

Batman had already taken out three of the goons. The fourth one had begun to fire his AK-47 wildly, but the he had already rolled behind the marble pillar in front of a welfare office.

What happened next seemed to be slow-motion. An errant bullet caught the Dark Knight in his shoulder as he had attempted to shoot a batarang around the corner, and he fell backwards, struggling as he reached for his grapple. Before she could think on it, Catwoman was swinging down on the opposite side and caught the henchman in his stomach with both her feet.

She whipped around and saw the suited man approaching Batman from behind, his face now obscured by a grotesque brown, patchwork mask. She saw the shadow of a pistol in his hand. She readied her whip, but he saw her, and lunged forward towards Batman as he fired, but the weapon was curiously silent. A dart gun.

Her whip latched onto the man's leg, and she pulled as hard as she could, dragging his lanky body across the asphalt. As she reached him, she dug her boot into his neck before crouching down and slamming her fist hard into his temple. His head went limp against the sidewalk almost immediately.

She recognized him from the news articles 5 years ago. Scarecrow. The man had tried to terrorize Gotham before, but she thought he had been safely locked away.

Her knuckles were aching from the blow she had dealt the man, but she ignored the pain as she crouched by Batman's side and saw he was breathing very heavily. His eyes flashed at her, unfocussed, terrified. Blue.

"What's wrong?" she asked urgently, scanning his body for any new scores in his armour. The cops would be here soon. She spied the dart embedded in his cowl, under his chin and yanked it out swiftly.

"Run," he coughed out raggedly.

She shuffled his good arm over her shoulder and hoisted with her legs, groaning at the exertion. She was strong, but this man was 200 pounds of muscle, and she needed his help to get him to his feet. Batman leaned on her bodily as they made their way to the church, their movements agonizingly slow. His breathing was getting more erratic by the moment. She left him leaning against a dumpster and pounced up to the nearest window on a stone ledge. She cut through the thin glass swiftly and popped the window open, hurrying inside to unlock the main wooden doors.

She hastily ushered Batman in between two pews and touched the hole in his cowl where the dart had pierced his skin.

"Belt. Injection," he rasped, though his voice was weak, trembling.

Her hands went to his waist and she began rifling through the many compartments, finally coming upon a small autoinjector no bigger than her pinkie. She looked to him for more instructions, but his eyes were rolling back and finally, his eyelids fluttered closed. She readied the autoinjector when he began to convulse violently, his good arm snapping up and catching her in the eye. She was knocked aside by the tremendous impact.

"Hell," she muttered, keeping her left eye closed as the pain began to build in her head. "You sure pack a punch."

She jumped bodily over him to quell his movements and jabbed the autoinjector forcefully into his left trapesius muscle, right above where the cowl met the armour of his costume, keeping it in for several seconds before removing it.

"You're going to hurt yourself, or worse, me again," she gritted her teeth as she tried to pin him, and was relieved to feel the convulsions starting to subside after a few minutes. She glanced over her shoulder nervously, hoping the police would not care to peek inside the neighbouring buildings.

Several moments later, rolling off a very cataleptic Batman, she sighed as she collapsed on her back, exhausted.

What now? She was already too involved. This was not her problem. _Run, Selina._

Cursing under her breath, she decided she couldn't leave him. He would be quite a sight to behold when the reverend began Sunday mass. After a moment of contemplation, she pulled out her cell phone from one of the more obscured pockets on her suit.

"Slam? It's me...I'm going to need some help."

* * *

><p>She could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Batman was slumped over Samuel Emerson Bradley's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, mouth hanging slightly open. When the doors of the service elevator finally opened, Selina peered out to make sure no one was in the halls, and they quickly made for apartment 4-B, which was really a single, stuffy room.<p>

"Jesus, he's a big boy," Slam sighed as they both dumped Batman unceremoniously on the tiny bed in the center of the studio. The springs complained noisily under the significant weight.

"Yeah...no way I could have dragged him out myself," she admitted, peeling her hood off to look him properly.

He ran a large hand through his grey hair and began to remove off his coat. "No problem, Selina, you know I'm always here for you."

It was true. Years ago, Slam had found her squatting in a dingy apartment during one of his cases, and had taken her in, even getting her a job doing paper work in his office to earn some money for her undergrad at Gotham U. She owed him everything.

After they had stripped Batman's armour off and dressed his wound (thankfully, a simple through-and-through), Slam wrapped his thick arms around her and squeezed, gentle for a man his of 6 foot 3. He smelled of Old Spice and coffee, and his coat was itchy against her face, but she relished the feeling of it.

"Looks like you're gonna get quite the shiner there," Slam pointed out, gesturing to her face.

Selina's hands brushed the puffy underside of her left eye, which was incredibly tender to the touch after Batman's errant hand had smashed into her. "I've had worse."

"Need anything else, kiddo?"

She pulled away and shook her head, collapsing in the nearby leather armchair. "You've done too much. Get home, I'm sure you have an early day tomorrow."

"Nah," he lied with a tender smirk. "Just clear out of here before Tuesday night, the agents are coming in to foreclose the property."

"What happened here, anyway?"

Slam hesitated for a moment and fidgeted with the cuff of his shirt. "My client's brother OD'd on some badly cut heroin and choked on his own vomit. We found him in that chair on Tuesday, a week after he disappeared."

"I see," she shuddered. Selina brusquely pushed herself out of the chair and eyed the off-colour suede upholstery with distaste. "Pleasant."

"If you need to move him again-" Slam said, starting for the door.

"You'll be the first person I call," she said sincerely, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "Bye, Slam. Thank you again."

When Slam left, she sat on the bedside beside the Dark Knight, contemplative. There he lay, vulnerable, looking strangely small in nothing but a tight black pair of insulating leggings and his cowl. Her sense of morality, though admittedly ambiguous, had forced her to leave him masked. She was relieved to hear that his breathing had finally evened out. The rhythmic noise was strangely soothing, being the only sound in the room except for the gentle hum of the cheap fluorescent lighting.

"It would be so easy," she murmured, letting her hands travel across his chest. She slipped her fingers underneath the cowl and swept them back and forth against hard skin.

Her eyes were drawn further down where he saw scar upon scar, flesh that had knitted itself together after many a brutal attack. A knife wound slashed across his lower abdomen, the dark discolouration of two burns splashed against his right pectoral. But across his upper bicep were four parallel lines of shiny new skin, a memento of one of their meetings. What man would put himself through this hell? What was he trying to prove? _Why are you punishing yourself_, she wondered.

Selina pulled her hood back on before making for the small balcony. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours," she promised.

**TBC**

A/N - thank you for the kind reviews :D I enjoyed writing this chapter quite a bit, hope you enjoyed reading it!


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce's sleep was filled with visions. Terrifying ones that blurred together, endless and horrifying. His parents bleeding out in a dirty alleyway, and the confirmation that it was his inadequacy that caused it. Rachel exploding into a million pieces of flesh and bone while he watched, helpless. The Joker's grotesque and twisted face, cackling in front of him, taunting. Gotham burning, her citizens screaming for their saviour, their Knight, but he was no hero...

Then there was just blackness, a welcome respite from the nightmares. He was content in this dark solitude, until he felt the crimson glow of light behind his eyelids. He opened them slowly, his vision blurred and spotted. His tongue was like sandpaper and his body felt wrecked, while a distantly dull pain in his left arm quickly became excruciating.

He wasn't at home. He was sprawled on an uncomfortable mattress as he felt a chill against his bare chest. Then there was movement in his peripherals, someone was beside him, and he reached up viciously and grabbed their throat, squeezing.

"Let...go," she managed to choke out.

She. Bruce blinked quickly to clear his vision while she turned away for a moment. When she faced him again, she was hooded, her face veiled, but familiar. She had revealed nothing in that one fleeting moment.

Panicked, he released her and his hand flew to his face. He was relieved to find the cowl was still snugly in place, though his skin was uncomfortable starting to chafe under the material. His head fell back on his pillow as he breathed heavily, trying to remember.

"Way to show your appreciation hero," Catwoman murmured as she undid the soiled bandage on his upper arm. She rubbed her neck with irritation before proceeding to dress the wound anew.

He swallowed hard and turned, looking out the small rear door to the night sky. "How long?" he rasped, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Just a day," she said. "What did he do to you?"

"A new toxin, a faster acting agent," Bruce replied, deciding it was time to leave. He sat up and groaned at the exertion. He felt like he had been on an all-night bender. "My serum provided some resistance but it wasn't enough."

"Easy there," she said, though she made no move to stop him. "You had a pretty rough night."

He stumbled out of the bed, holding onto the nearest armchair for support. In his mind's eye, he saw a flash of a van bursting into flames - Lucius' explosive gel...the fight was starting to come back to him. Scarecrow had ambushed him after he had taken the bullet.

"I wouldn't touch that, handsome," she cautioned, standing up. "You don't know where it's been..."

He paused briefly as his head spun uncontrollably, but he spied his belongings on the floor at the far side of the room. He began putting his suit on, but the choking feeling of disappointment and embarrassment continued to build inside him. The silence stretched endlessly, and it didn't help quell his growing anger. His arm was stiff, locked with pain as he slipped it into the armour.

"I don't need your help," he finally snapped as he adjusted the gauntlet on his wrist.

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "You certainly weren't objecting last night when you were incapacitated."

Batman walked shakily to the balcony as he pressed his belt to call his vehicle. He needed to get away. But he hesitated for a moment. "But thank you," he whispered, not sure if she heard him as he disappeared in a flurry of shadow.

* * *

><p>Alfred examined the suturing job on Bruce's upper arm with a hum of approval. "She did well. Seems to have a practiced and steady hand."<p>

Bruce stifled a wince as Alfred tightened a new bandage around his forearm. "Please," he scoffed.

"Master Bruce," Alfred admonished, "that woman saved your life. Thief she may be, but I think there's some reluctant altruism within her. It's quite intriguing, really."

Bruce pushed himself from the chair and pulled on a t-shirt, refusing to acknowledge Alfred's praise for Catwoman.

"Have you reserved the hotel for your stay in Metropolis?" Alfred asked.

"I'm not going anymore."

"Yes, you are," his butler said simply. "I'll arrange it."

"Alfred-"

The older man stood and began to pack away the tools of his makeshift surgical kit. "I refuse to let you rot away in the Cave, becoming more bat than man, sir. And if I may say, it's nice to see you feeling something nowadays, even if it's just affectionate annoyance directed towards Gotham's most skilled burglar."

Bruce paused in disbelief. "Affectionate?"

Alfred studied him, in that way he so often did, making him feel like a small child. "No need to get defensive, sir. I'm not suggesting she's anything like Ms. Dawes."

"Good. Because she is _nothing_ like Rachel," Bruce replied softly before retreating to his room.

* * *

><p>Selina <em>tried<em> to join in the conversation, but couldn't bring herself to feign interest.

Darcy and several of the donors were tittering excitedly about the Gonzales exhibit, due to open next week. It was Selina's brainchild after all, and she should have been a little more invested in tonight's promotion of GMAM, but she was putting most of her effort into not being overtly sullen.

"It's so primal and harsh. It's just so reflective the authoritative nature of man over woman. Gonzales' exhibit is really homage to feminism is the 21st century," Darcy explained.

"Hit the nail on the head, Darcy," Selina agreed, hoping her apathy wasn't as apparent to her colleagues as it was to her.

Despite her mood, she couldn't help but admire the decor in the Metropolis Grand Convention Hall. Blues and whites of winter hung all around them as streamers and dioramas, while festive silver garlands dotted the wide, domed ceiling. And just to add a modern flare, images of the museum interiors played in loop across sleek LCD screens dispersed throughout the floor between pieces that had been brought in on loan.

Her attention was only held for a moment as her mind wandered again. She had avoided partaking in her usual midnight activities except to periodically check up on Holly over Christmas and New Years, which, coincidentally, she spent alone in her apartment getting a little too enamoured with some cheap zinfandel.

She also swore that she wouldn't meddle herself in the Dark Knight's affairs anymore. He was an unwelcome hassle, once a plaything and now a distraction from the case. _Keep telling yourself that_, came that officious voice in her head.

She was drumming her fingers against the table when the lull of the crowd seemed to grow and heads turned to the main entrance. Bruce Wayne had arrived to the unnecessary pomp he was accustomed to. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, but instead planted a carefully considered smile on her face inside. Another night, another mask.

He spotted her and managed to pry away from several admirers and well-wishers. Selina stood to greet him, but not before downing the last of her wine. Maybe she'd indulge a little more than usual tonight. She deserved it.

"Where's your date?" she decided to ask, though she knew the answer.

"I figured I'd ride stag tonight," he smiled.

She allowed herself to appreciate him as a man, for just a moment, tall, confident, and gorgeous. And she enjoyed it when he reciprocated, appraising her with unabashed appreciation. It had been a while, she admitted, as she felt an urgent warmth pooling in her belly.

"You look great," he said, affirming his intentions.

She glanced down at herself demurely, knowing that the Dior over-the-shoulder silk gown was an excellent choice. She took him by the arm, the emerald dress swishing at her feet gently while they walked. "I should show you the pictures of the new wing, a little sneak peak for GMAM's foremost financier."

She led him to the screens that showcased GMAM and as they watched the slide show for a moment, and he watched patiently, seemingly uncharacteristic of the foppish prince of Gotham.

"You know, the extension is less extravagant than I pictured."

"This year, 25% of the substantial donations go to fund the Gotham arts. We're opening a new summer program for younger children on the East End that keeps them off the streets."

"Good to hear," he said, and she allowed herself to believe that he was sincere.

Her cell phone tinkered quietly in her clutch, and she apologized quickly as she retrieved it.

"Hello?"

Silence, for a moment. Then, timidly, "It's me."

"Holly?" Selina gasped, excusing herself from Bruce and distancing herself, hoping she was out of ear shot. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine..." Holly began. "I just...I don't even know your name."

"Selina," she replied, waving off a young man who had bravely decided to approach her after eyeing her the entire night. He retreated, red with embarrassment. "My name is Selina."

The line was silent again for a moment, then muffled as she heard someone speaking in the background. "Can I meet you?"

Selina cursed the inopportune timing, but she could catch a red eye, get back by 2 or 3. "I'm not in Gotham right now, but I can be there in a few hours..."

"No," she whispered back. "You don't need to do that, but I want to speak with you."

"Call me back in half an hour, then you can tell me everything," Selina promised. She terminated the call and turned back to see Bruce chatting quite idly with that woman who had been on his arm during the auction. Jennifer, the vacuous model.

With one fleeting look of something that might have been apology, Selina slipped out before he saw her.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

"Bruce, you know the tabloids will be after us," Jennifer slurred into his ear, breath hot and reeking of wine.

He was all but carrying her, but made it appear as though he was just as inebriated as he winked at the concierge. To his chagrin, the woman had followed him outside at the end of the night and tumbled into his car after him. When asked which hotel she was staying at, she had slumped back and fallen asleep in the seat, only waking up as the car halted in front of the Metropolitan Plaza.

"Let's make them talk," he replied, swiping his thumb across her jaw as they got into the elevator.

She was idly raking her fingernails across the nape of his neck as they exited on the 45th floor and made their way to Bruce's suite. On his way up, he had ordered a bottle of wine, and sincerely hoped room service would be by shortly.

She all but tried to pounce on him as they entered the foyer, her lips wet against his neck, but he held her at bay just as the concierge came by, and she was all too excited to pop open the next bottle. Three glasses later, she was passed out on his bed, snoring lightly.

With a frown, he stripped off his suit jacket and proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. His arm still felt stiff, and was prone to bouts of prickly tingling; Alfred said mild neuropathy was the most likely diagnosis. Although the damage was not irreparable, he cautioned that Bruce should add an extra layer of padding over the affected area during patrol, but he found his mobility too hindered when he did. So Bruce had disregarded another piece of well-intentioned advice, much to his butler's chagrin.

Feeling far too hot, Bruce slid open the rear terrace doors and slipped outside, content to watch his breath steam up in front of him. The weather had been considerably milder after New Years, thought it was still quite chilly, but he relished the feeling stifling heat evaporating off his body.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he narrowed his eyes towards the balcony beside him.

"Selina?"

Her head snapped towards him, shock writ on her face. "Bruce? What are you doing all the way down on this floor, among the mere mortals?"

"Made a last minute reservation, penthouse was taken," he told her, honestly, as he neared the edge of the balcony. "So, where'd you run off to tonight?"

She shook her head, crossing her arms under her chest and shivering, her evening gown providing little protection from the chill. "I had a personal matter. Hopefully you still enjoyed yourself?"

Her eyes were clouded, tired. She was certainly acting less forward than usual, avoiding conversation rather than inviting it. It was strange, seeing her so sullen.

"Is there anything I can do?"

She glanced at him, almost considering answering for a moment, but her eyes caught something behind him as a sardonic smile graced her full lips. "You really know how to show a girl a good time."

She had spotted Jennifer sprawled in the bed, fully clothed. He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, forcing out a short laugh. "Seems she enjoyed the wine more than the company."

"Some playboy you are," she teased, though her voice seemed tired, strained. Her heels clicked as she came to lean against the banister on her forearms. "You didn't even _try_ to take advantage of her."

Bruce bristled instinctively, waiting, mind racing to find a segue, or another carefully constructed lie. How her demeanour had transitioned so quickly was alarming. Selina Kyle was a volatile woman, contemplatively morose one moment and flippant the next. She was avoiding the topic, but Bruce Wayne had written the book on deception and distraction, and knew her intentions.

"Teetotaling drunk who's also a celibate playboy. What are _you_ trying to hide, Bruce?" she asked, assessing him with cool green eyes that were suddenly thoughtful. She had lost all intention of continuing the banter.

"We were talking about you," he pointed out, uneasy. He knew he should have left. This was wrong.

"I'm afraid that would be a rather dull conversation," she replied, straightening. "I'd better go inside. Might catch a chill. Goodnight Bruce."

As she retreated behind the curtained windows, he decided Selina Kyle was anything but dull.

* * *

><p>Holly's friend, the blonde Selina had met on the street, had been attacked. But she had gotten away.<p>

It had happened on the corner of 122nd and 3rd. Holly was working the next block, and heard her scream. When she arrived, a hooded man was dragging her into his car. Thankfully, the pimp (Selina never thought she'd say those words in a sentence) heard the commotion and arrived, smashing the windshield in with a baseball bat. Holly had pulled her friend out of the rear seat while the man hopped back into the driver's seat and sped away, rear car door flapping in the wind. Holly had explained that her friend refused to get into the car when she saw the man's arm, red and raw with some strange wound, and he had responded to her rejection by attempting to abduct her.

"He was bald, or had really short hair," Holly whispered as they walked side-by-side on 3rd avenue. Nightfall was close, and Selina insisted she walk the girl home after treating her to dinner in midtown. "But that's all she saw."

"His arm..." Selina wondered aloud.

"Wasn't a regular scratch, it was a...carving," Holly shuddered. "Georgia won't leave her house now, and Limmy's getting pretty angry."

Selina stopped suddenly and grabbed the girl by her shoulders, desperate. "Don't go home tonight. I'll get you a hotel room."

"Then what? There's nothing else out there for me!" Holly pulled away violently. "I'm still not your charity case. I just want you to find this freaking whack job."

"I never said you were a charity case," Selina shot back. "What about when this is over...I won't just leave you."

The evening had been endearing, to say the least. Though reluctant about revealing details, Selina had learned that Holly's uncle, who had raised her, had died when she was 17. She had no financial support, and growing up on the Lower East Side without a parental figure or a bank account made it rather easy to get sucked into less-than-reputable activity.

But, she had also learned that Holly enjoyed playing the guitar and Limmy had even bought her one last year. She also loved to read, especially mysteries and the occasional trashy romance, but who didn't?

"What's your next move?" The younger girl began walking again, eliminating the possibility of continuing that conversation.

Selina sighed, massaging her temple wearily. "I'm waiting here tonight."

"You can't!"

"Limmy won't see me, I'll wait in the alleys," Selina promised. "Or pretend I'm walking the streets, too."

Holly spun around and pointed at her. "Limmy knows everyone, don't walk."

Selina frowned. She might as well have gone back home to get her suit, but it was late, and she did not want Holly knowing about her midnight activities just yet. They were crossing in and out of the glow of the streetlamps, their shadows becoming more opaque as the night grew around them. Selina slipped into the narrowest alley on the block, and attempted to make herself comfortable on a dilapidated crate.

It was doubtful that the killer would show up in the blue Cavalier he used in his failed abduction. What was she hoping to find here? The East End was massive, and Gotham bigger still. Was she just expecting to chance upon the man somewhere between here and the Narrows? The Cat was playing an unlikely game of chance.

Batman waited, silent as ever atop the tallest apartment building within 5 blocks at the heart of the East End.

Frustrated by the lack of breaks in the case, he had taken the time to visit the last victim's apartment a second, then third time, since it was still cordoned off after the murder. He found one curious thing that the authorities had failed to detect in their report – a small silver plated blade found in her kitchen. It was entirely unremarkable except it did not match any of her other cutlery, and seemed more of an expensive trinket. It was not the murder weapon, and had in fact been wiped clean, though there was no way to attribute its state to something other than household scrubbing. He had palmed it before leaving.

Then, he heard voices rising from a narrow alley. He peered down below to see a tall man marching in, while a skinny girl tried to hold him back in vain.

"Get the hell out of here," he yelled at another woman, who had been standing silently to the side. The man began to pull her bodily from the alley by the arm.

Bruce sighed and prepared to jump down when the woman grabbed the pimp's wrist and wrenched it. The man screamed in anger, swinging a punch at her head. As she ducked, he caught a glimpse of her face, and froze in shock. Selina. After she rose up, she struck her hand into his neck, knocking him back into some trash cans with a crash. He managed to sprint away, with the younger girl scrambling after him.

Selina was about to follow them when he decided to make his move, dropping down to cut her off.

The initial surprise on her face melted into fury as she tried to get past him, but he grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the wall. "You don't look like a regular in this neighbourhood," he rasped.

"Let me go!" she growled, bringing her knee up to hit him in the groin, but wincing as her knee hit the protective cup, hard. "I need to find her."

He held her until her struggle began to cease and she exhaled roughly in frustration. "Listen, hero..."

Bruce's grip eased slightly as he blinked, taken aback by the familiar moniker.

"I've got important business, so how about you go and bite some real baddies tonight," Selina snapped as she tried to break his grip, pushing against his arms and making a few ill-targeted slices at his body.

"It's not safe here," he said simply.

"I can take care of myself," she insisted. "Now, beat it."

As she had proven before his intervention, she was even more capable than he initially believed, but he kept her cornered. She stood expectantly, and when he didn't budge, her green eyes narrowed dangerously. She reacted violently, fists swinging out, and all cuffs landing at his chest except one. The strike was lightning fast and caught him unexpectedly hard in his arm, right over his still-healing gun-shot wound. He stumbled back, vision spotting as nerves he never knew he had sent shooting pains up his arm. She ran by him without looking back.

Bruce braced his arm to his body and inhaled, troubled by what had happened. Either Selina Kyle had made a supremely lucky hit, or she had known exactly what would bring him to his knees.

* * *

><p>"Listen you prick," Selina spat, as anger quickly overrode her sense of propriety. "If you lay a hand on her after I'm gone, I will find out, and I will destroy you."<p>

Limmy the pimp stood against the wall of the tiny apartment, trying to feign nonchalance as Holly held some ice to his wrist. Her dark eyes snapped back and forth between Selina and Limmy, nervous.

"Lady," he scoffed, "I don't know what your deal is, but stop acting like you know us, ok? You people just keep coming round here, throwing your fundraisers, wearing your fancy dresses to celebrate your charities, and chuck a few pennies our way just so that you can go back to your lives and feel a little less guilty that this part of the city isn't up to your pristine standards. But you know what, it is _never_ going away. _You_ feedthis neighbourhood. Just the other day, Georgia went home with a fucking Judge! And cops come by all the time...protectors of Gotham city, my ass."

Selina blinked, not expecting Limmy the pimp to be quite so eloquent. "I don't approve of what you support and perpetuate, but that's not why I was here tonight."

"Man's gotta make a living," he shrugged, seemingly running low on self-righteous indignation. "You should give it a try, pretty chick like you could really rake it in, and you seemed pretty flexible out there. I like that, and so do the clients."

"Let me know what you know," she said, ignoring his jibe and sitting down at the maple table. "A bald man, blue cavalier, carving on his arm."

The leer vanished, and Limmy looked uncomfortable, but sat down reluctantly across from her. "The car's nothing special, gotta see like 10 of those speeding through the streets every day."

Selina scooted forward in her seat. "You know something else."

Limmy scratched his receding hairline and sighed. "OK, I don't want any more trouble from you after this..."

"Cross my heart," Selina said, mimicking the gesture against her breast as she smiled. "But I will be talking to Holly whenever I want. I'm not playing by _all_ of your rules."

"No more stalking around here scaring away customers," he warned.

"Of course not."

He paused, examining his hands for a moment. "When I got to the car that day he tried to get Georgia, I saw a parking ticket on his dashboard," he said quietly.

Selina felt her excitement deflate slightly, but gestured for him to go on.

"For Club V," he continued. "And I thought that was _really_ fucking weird 'cause what's a high roller like that doing with a shitty Chevy? Then I smashed that windshield anyway so..."

Selina stood decisively and neared Holly, who had been silent during the exchange. "I'm going to ask again tonight, and every night...you can come back to my apartment, Holly. We can discuss alternate arrangements later."

Limmy seemed to stiffen, but didn't dare interject. Holly glanced at the pimp, with a mix of regret and maybe even some misplaced affection.

"Ok," the younger girl agreed slowly, and together, they left.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

"I called Northwestern today as you asked, Master Bruce," Alfred said as he pressed the ice pack to his ward's arm.

"And?"

"Ms. Kyle was indeed a former student, graduated with distinction two years ago," he finished.

Bruce sighed and fixed his gaze on the grandfather clock behind his butler. "Still, something's not right about her."

Selina was stalking Crime Alley for reasons unknown. These were not the expected actions of a socialite in Gotham. What investment could a woman who had _everything_ have in the Lower East Side?

"You're right," Alfred continued, unperturbed. "I also called Ms. Kyle's alma mater for her undergraduate. Gotham University has no record of a Selina Kyle graduating within the last 15 years."

Bruce sat up straighter and waited for his butler to finish.

"After a little persuasion, and ensuring a Wayne Enterprises donation would be coming their way, I asked the registrar to do some digging for alumni who proceeded to Northwestern, and this revealed that a Selina _Graves_ attended their institution until 2001."

Bruce stood decidedly and proceeded to the piano to call up the elevator to the Cave. "Time to do some digging on Ms. Graves."

At the new computer system he had relocated from the downtown hideout, he began by going through state birth records. Selina had no reason to lie about her beginnings in the city, so he took it on good faith that she was indeed "Gotham born and raised". In fact, he wasn't even sure if her name change was an attempt to evade or obscure a shady past, as sometimes was the case.

"Let's start at the beginning," he said quietly, to no one in particular.

Selina Graves was born in the Lower East End, 33 years prior, to Brian Graves and Maria Kyle. The birth certificate revealed the parents were unmarried at the time of Selina's birth. On a hunch, Bruce ran the parents' names through the citizen database to find Maria Kyle had been institutionalized several times before and after the birth of her daughter for manic-depressiveness, while the father had been in and out of county jail for everything from minor battery charges to petty theft. The charges ended abruptly in 1992, which Bruce investigated further.

"Oh my," came Alfred's hushed voice.

**Murder-Suicide on Lower East End**, read the excerpt of the Gotham Post reel that was illuminated brightly on the LCD screen in front of them.

_Brian Donald Graves, unemployed, was found deceased after sustaining a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. It has determined Graves took his own life after gunning down his girlfriend, Maria Kyle, aged 30, in their shared apartment off 142__nd__ street. Neighbours say the couple was known for having loud and sometimes violent altercations. Their daughter, age 13, has been handed over to child services..._

"Selina," he breathed quietly as he stood, shaken. He began making his way back upstairs, deciding he had had enough of the night.

Alfred strode quickly after him, and put a hand on his back to stop him. However, he remained quiet, knowing Bruce all too well.

"A blurb in one newspaper, Alfred," he said, defeated. "And what happened to her after that?"

His butler squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't feel guilty, Master Bruce..."

"Seems not everyone is lucky enough to be born a Wayne," Bruce said, defeated, echoing the words of the women he was just beginning to know.

* * *

><p>Selina threw her clutch to her couch and leaned against the island in the kitchen, fuming. No matter which social ladders she seemed to climb, it was seemingly never enough. She had been denied entry into Club V, and Selina was not accustomed to being refused. She had pulled all the stops, worn a low cut teal cocktail dress that showed off the curves and legs and skin, but the bouncers were not having any of it. The guest list was especially exclusive that night since it was some rich heiress' birthday party. Just to irk her further, she found out the brat, set to inherit the Hayes Chemical fortune, had reserved the club every night for a week to celebrate her 30th.<p>

Now more than ever, she felt the black sheep in the crowd of wealthy socialites.

For a moment, Selina considered prowling. A late night excursion would do her some good, since she had been cooped up in her apartment after Holly had arrived. Finally, she had moved the girl into a mid-range hotel several blocks from her place, and had gotten her a volunteer position at GMAM, tending to the records department. She told her it might eventually lead to a paid position as a clerk.

As attractive as the option of donning the cat suit was, she knew another night passed was another night wasted, and this lead was her only chance in proceeding further in the case. With some contemplation, she grabbed her cell phone. After calling Darcy briefly, she had the information she needed, and dialled a second number.

"Bruce? It's Selina," she said, giving herself a once over in the hallway mirror.

A pause, unexpected. "How are you, Selina?"

After some self-examination, she tossed her tousled hair behind her shoulder. "Lonely, actually," she replied lightly.

"Oh," came the less than enthusiastic reply. "Sorry to hear that."

What had gotten into him? The man usually seemed eager to garner her attention and was incredibly flirtatious company. Perhaps their last encounter had been a little lacklustre, and she immediately regretted her subdued demeanour.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened in Metropolis and I was hoping to make it up to you," she continued evenly. "Please say you'll give a girl some company tonight."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, his voice edged with hesitation.

"How does Club V sound?"

* * *

><p>Selina exited the Lamborghini, and was nearly blinded by the onslaught of paparazzi flashes in the rotunda in front of the club.<p>

Bruce's hand rested lightly on her waist as he guided her to the front of the line, which had become exponentially larger since Selina's visit two hours prior. She did not envy the patrons at the back of the queue. She shot a smug look at the gargantuan bouncer who had denied her earlier, and the man stepped back begrudgingly as Bruce slipped past the entrance enclave easily.

"Are you alright?" he asked before they went into the large lounge beyond. She could feel the bass of the music reverberate through her bones even before the entered.

"Lucky I'm not epileptic," she laughed gently, looping her arm through his. "I'd ask if you wanted a drink, but, you know..."

Bruce smiled wearily as they entered the dimly lit room beyond. "Don't let me stop you."

The glass walls glowed an array of colours to the beat of the steady dance music, and it smelled of sweet perfume and booze, which covered the underlying scent of the writhing bodies on the dance floor. They went to a private booth in the corner, while several heads turned in their direction to catch a glimpse of Bruce.

"I really am sorry about last time," she decided to begin, raising her voice slightly over the din of the music and chatter around them.

A man dressed in full white came by to take their bottle service orders, and Selina ordered a mid-priced bottle of wine, for propriety's sake, she told herself.

"You never told me what happened," Bruce replied, draping his arm across the back of their booth as he inched towards her.

"It really doesn't matter," she smirked, evading the topic. Their drinks arrived, and Selina took a sip from her glass, despite her partner's abstinence. "Ah, pinot, my biggest vice. I don't know how you do it, Bruce."

"Sometimes I ask myself the same question," he replied, watching her steadily, his eyes unnervingly penetrating.

She shifted to face him fully, uncomfortable by his shifting demeanour. "Are you alright?"

Then came the practiced grin, and he let his hand rest on her knee steadily. "Yeah, of course."

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, leaning in close to his ear to be heard above the new, louder music. "Just making sure, handsome. I'll be right back."

Selina went the long way to the lady's room, taking her time to pass the bar where several solitary patrons were sipping at their drinks. Club V was so exclusive that nearly all the customers were regulars, at least to some extent. She tried to match several of the men as the plausible suspect, based upon what Holly had told her about the man's build and demeanour. Twice, she was approached by high-rollers looking for some company, and when she finally did emerge from the ladies room, a particularly forceful gentlemen looped his hand around her wrist and yanked her to the side of the dance floor.

She spun around to berate the newcomer, and was surprised to see Bruce had slipped behind her. She needed more time alone, and wished again that she could have gotten into the club herself. Before she could open her mouth to spew out another lie and traipse away, he led her by the arm off the dance floor.

"Wanting to leave so soon?" she asked.

"Someone's watching you," Bruce said. "We should go."

"Everyone's watching us," she waved him off, though her eyes scanned the room around them, interest peaked.

"No," Bruce asserted. "He's been watching since you left the booth, that's why I followed you."

And Selina saw him, at the bar adjacent, sipping on a gin and tonic. He was rather short, 5'8" maybe, slim build, bald. He was wearing newly pressed grey slacks, and smart collared shirt. Entirely indistinguishable from the crowd in Club V. His eyes were dark, and his skin was a pale, almost translucent, white.

"Do you know him?" she asked, certain she didn't recognize him from Gotham's social elite.

"No."

"Bruce!" Jennifer the model had appeared from nowhere, brows furrowed as she glanced at Selina.

"You never called," she began, placing an arm on Bruce's shoulder, ignoring Selina pointedly.

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, trying to push past the woman, but Selina thanked the good fortune and took the opportunity to slip away and approached the bar, hoping to disappear behind the crowd. Bruce Wayne would have to wait for now.

She kept an eye on the bald man through the corner of her eye, and suddenly, he melted into the crowd. Selina tried to follow him, but the continuously shifting bodies made it impossible to know which way he had gone. She made rounds to try to catch him again, but was disappointed to find him nowhere. Instead, she exited the lounge and found herself facing the bouncer once more.

"Excuse me," she greeted confidently, placing a hand on her hip. "I'm an event coordinator for Wayne enterprises, and they're about to engage in a rather strategic corporate move with Hayes Chemical. I was asked to take a look at the guest list, you know, for future reference."

The bouncer stared at her and adjusted the sunglasses on his face. "Guest list is confidential."

She laughed, feigning nonchalance. "I'm not sure you understand, Mr. Wayne himself-"

"I don't care if the Queen of England asks for the guest list, lady. _Confidential_," he said, adjusted his suit as he turned away.

Selina stalked away, but spotted the "employees only" room and slipped in, hoping no one had spotted her. She checked out two of the back rooms, one of which was a broom closet, and the other an office, complete with the closed circuit security footage of the club. She first palmed the disc that sat in the security footage tray and then began to peruse the large desktop on the side. It was unlocked, and she smiled, grateful for whichever lazy caretaker had done this.

Cleaning schedules, overnight events and bookings, and finally, guest lists. She quickly printed off the lists for the last two weeks, rolled the papers up and exited hastily. She ran headlong into Bruce as she closed the employee door behind her.

He had his hands in his pockets, characteristically casual, it seemed. "Selina?"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him bodily out of the club. "I've had enough . Can you give me a ride?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, eyeing the papers in her fist.

Selina began to lead him out of the building. The bouncer who she had antagonized twice now eyed her with brazen suspicion, but she paid him no regard as they left.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

The Lamborghini rolled to a stop in front of Selina's high-rise. Bruce turned off the ignition and shifted to face her, but the smile that graced his lips did not reach his eyes. "Hope you had a good night, despite the unwelcome attention."

"Great night," she replied, at least appearing sincere. She leaned over to press her lips to his cheek, lingering for a moment. "Thank you."

Their eyes met and he was sure that she was contemplating inviting him up, but instead she opened the door and bent down to get out of the low car.

"Selina," he began, against his better judgement. "If you ever need anything..."

With an incredulous brow raise, she frowned. "I'm...fine, Bruce. Where's this coming from?"

"I just wanted you to know," he told her. "Good night."

Selina hesitated, but nodded in acquiescence. "Call me," she called back over her shoulder as she disappeared into the apartment.

He exhaled slowly as he started the car again, and drove a little faster than necessary back to his apartment in midtown. He was sloppy around her, and she was astute, but his behaviour was at least partially unintentional. It was disturbing. Was he trying to investigate her, or protect her?

In his bedroom later that night, he stripped off his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, brows furrowed. Still, he had learned something tonight. Catwoman had gotten something she wanted, and he was going to find out what it was. He closed his eyes and prayed for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>"Christ," Selina breathed, watching the news through the corner store window as the overcast sky darkened above.<p>

The Gotham Evening News had an urgent banner of red: _East Side Slasher blamed for death of runway model_.

She couldn't hear the newscaster, but she saw Jennifer Snow's photo on the screen and she almost dropped her Starbucks. He was evolving. His targets had changed; he wasn't killing nameless women that no one would miss. Why – was he sending a message? Sending _her_ a message?

She brought out her cell and dialled GMAM. "Darcy, I can't come to the benefit tonight."

"Are you alright? Do you need-"

"I'm just feeling a little under the weather," she replied honestly, as the depths of her stomach began to churn. "I'm sorry."

It was her fault. She knew he was in Club V, and she had left. What had she been thinking?

Feeling sick, she hailed a cab and when she got back home, she reviewed the guest list once more. She had already eliminated all the women, and many of the guests were high-profile enough that a simple internet search had yielded sufficient photos and background to profile them. Thanks to a little help from Slam, she had spent the last two nights by beginning to tail the 20 odd names that seemed like plausible leads simply due to the lack of information she had on them.

About half the men were far too old, decrepit. _Old money, literally_, she had told herself. Three names remained, and Slam had no information on them. They were likely pseudonyms of people willing to throw money at the bouncers for the sake of anonymity. She could only hope one of them was him.

She had more information now than she did last week, but nothing to do with it. Another dead end?

_If you need anything..._

What could Bruce do? _He_ couldn't do anything.

Feeling utterly useless, she stripped down and slipped into her suit. 20 minutes later, she sat, legs danging off the roof of the Old Gotham Theatre House, a crumbling building that had most recently become the site of squatters and not-so-covert drug deals. But it seemed mostly peaceful tonight, and she was thankful for it. The view from her vantage point was less-than-impressive, overlooking the west end of the Gotham harbour, which was nothing but a mishmash of chain link fences and docks with the odd rusty boat moored here or there.

_Donald Greer, Marcus Michaelson, Parker Rice. _Three names that led nowhere. And who's to say she hadn't skitted over the real perp in the hundreds of other names? She was playing everything on a hunch and some cursory research.

First came an ominous rumble of distant thunder, and then the water started to fall from the sky. She could hear the insistent clamour of the drops as they fell into the reservoir to the east, but she welcomed the rain as it sluiced over her lithe body. The water seemed to take some of the weight off her shoulders as it trailed down the catsuit, but still, the three names tumbled in her mind as her synapses attempted to make any sort of connection to the facts she already had.

Catwoman tensed as she felt his presence behind, but she didn't move. "Was wondering when you'd show up. Don't worry, I'm not out on the prowl. I've been off the juice for a while now. The withdrawal isn't the best but...what's a girl to do?"

No reply. Typical.

She hopped up and studied the Bat, hesitant. But she had no other choice.

"I need your help," she started, voice raised to be heard over the din of the storm.

Selina heard a sharp intake of breath. She admitted his surprise was warranted.

"I've been trying to find the Slasher. I've done some investigating, but I've hit a dead end," she continued, approaching him. "I know you have resources I don't."

She didn't wait for a reaction, knowing there would be none, and angled her head downwards to shield her goggles from the splattering rain. But still she kept her eyes focused on his stoic form.

"Three names that I can't zero in on: Donald Greer, Marcus Michaelson, Parker Rice. Aliases, I'm almost completely certain," she told him. "_Marcus Michaelson_? Who does that guy think he is, with the alliteration and everything?"

"Why those three?" came the gravelly reply.

"I had other names," she admitted. "But they seem legitimate. Big names, old wealthy types that I've been tailing. We can't possibly investigate them all so I figured the most dicey names would be the best place to start. And we've got to start somewhere, right?"

"There is no _we_," he replied evenly as he turned to leave.

She blinked, overwhelmed by disbelief, until she let a curt laugh slip from her lips. "You know, I used to think there was a man there somewhere beneath the Bat. I'm sorry that I was wrong."

She was satisfied when he stopped and stiffened visibly, and decided _she_ would be the one to make the dramatic exit, and leapt off the awning behind her, awash with the cool, damp night air.

* * *

><p>Her words struck a deeper chord than he liked.<p>

Bruce had planted himself behind his laptop, but had yet to begin perusing the police files he had opened. He listened to the thrum of the rain pattering against the walls of windows in his penthouse. A streak of lightning lit up the inky sky beyond, washing the brick of the opposite buildings in a flash of white light. He sighed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wash the fatigue away, and begrudgingly began to clack away at the keyboard.

_Jennifer is dead_, he thought. Was it his fault? He certainly hadn't helped her last night.

He forced himself to push aside the thoughts and tried to focus.

Greer was an easy hit – alias for Peter Goldstein, who had been linked to some embezzlement cases throughout the East coast. But Greer had just been released 2 months ago after being held 2 years for his latest indiscretion, making him MIA for all but the last murder.

One hour later through, going back 10 years of known pseudonyms and aliases, Bruce had made no headway on the other two names.

"Master Bruce, it's nearly 5 am, and you have the board meeting at 9."

Bruce stood and nodded, but did not move.

"Master Bruce?" His butler placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"It was just that I had someone who believed in me for a little while...not anymore."

Despite not knowing the context of his moods at times, Alfred always seemed to know what to do, and simply put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, quelling his cloudy demeanour, at least for a time.

**TBC**


End file.
